


The Interrogation

by viridianmasquerade



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Black Romance, Blackrom, Bondage, Breathplay, Choking, F/M, Interrogation, Predicament Bondage, Sexual Violence, Strangulation, borderline dubcon, please assume gamzee is in the equivalent of his late teens here, your mileage may vary on that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:36:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridianmasquerade/pseuds/viridianmasquerade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neophyte Redglare is forced to use rather unorthodox methods to obtain information from Gamzee Makara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Interrogation

“Good evening, mister Makara,” Neophyte Redglare purred, leaning forward to peer in through the tiny grate set into the door of the cramped cell that housed her newest prisoner. She ignored the lowblood guards stationed to either side of the door; they were there to protect her in case something went wrong, and she was arrogant enough to know for a fact that nothing would. “I trust you are enjoying your accommodations,” she continued.

In the dim light, it was difficult to make out much of the cell, but she didn't need to to picture the scene. The prisoner, stripped of everything but the most basic undergarments, would be on his tiptoes as she had left him, stretched to his full (and considerable) height. His lanky arms, bound at the wrists with fine silk rope, were pulled up high above his head. The other end of the line was looped around his neck in a legislacerator's noose. The rope was hung over a bar, short enough that there was no slack. This presented a predicament: the prisoner must remain on his tiptoes at all times, as any attempt to lower his arms would pull on the noose, choking him. It was an elegantly nasty set-up that Redglare was rather fond of.

The bars of the grate cast shadows like slash marks across his painted face. He curled his lips in a pretty snarl. “Motherfuckin' just great,” he spat, but she knew it for the bravado that it was. He had a coward's heart. She could practically smell it in him, beating like a drum at the sight of her. Her instincts had been right, as usual – he was the weak link in this vast criminal conspiracy, and no doubt about it. She licked her bottom lip in anticipation. She loved a good criminal conspiracy.

“Excellent. We strive always to provide a pleasing experience for all guests, particularly those with such a lofty position on the hemospectrum as yourself.” She allowed herself a tight smirk. “Shall I leave you to relax in peace, master Makara? You should take in the sights.”

He glared daggers at her from the safety of his cage, and said nothing. That was as expected. He would break for her, in time.

“Very good, my lord subjugglator,” she said sardonically, with a curt nod. She turned on her heel, half-waiting for him to call out to her. In point of fact, he was little more than a lowly comikaze, barely out of the mirthtent, but she found that exaggerated respect tended to unnerve the prisoners. She could almost (but not quite) summon a modicum of sympathy for him. It would be such a waste of fine purple blood when she had to execute him at the end of it all.

The boy had a little bit of spine. He did not call out as she walked away, not even to taunt her. She was marginally impressed, and decided she would leave him to stew for awhile longer. It would make him a more tender morsel.

When she returned, some hours later, the prisoner showed clear signs of deterioration, as anticipated. She dismissed the lowblood guards with a gesture (ah, the privileges of rank) and turned her attention to her captive clown. His paint, so neat and precise only hours before, was streaked and worn blurry with sweat. His legs trembled fetchingly, and a heavy bruise on his neck indicated that he had clearly stumbled at some point. Still, there was enough spirit left in him to raise his head and maintain eye contact as she unlocked and entered the cell.

“Redglare,” he croaked, voice like rust on his parched tongue.

“Neophyte Redglare,” she corrected mildly, tapping her cane in her hand.

“Neophyte my ass,” he said bitterly.

She smirked. “Far from it, yes, but they let me keep the title as a joke. You of all trolls should be able to appreciate that.”

He gritted his teeth at her in response.

“So, mister Makara -”

“Gamzee. No motherfuckin' point on this way ridic mister fuckin' Makara bullshit.”

“Gamzee,” she said, “are you prepared to confess to me the full and honest truth of your sickening crimes, and the names and natures of your fellow conspirators?”

“Already fuckin' told it at you, sister. What's spillin' out your jaws is being grotesque lies, heinous motherfuckin' fiction. Honk! I all up and ain't got no crimes to get my confess on for and I think you all kinds of know that.”

Redglare rolled her eyes behind her glasses, pacing slowly until she was behind him. “That's not very original,” she said. “Try again.”

Silence.

The legislacerator tapped his kneecap with the head of her cane, just hard enough to ruin his precarious balance. He slipped and fell, dangling awkwardly, scrabbling at the floor with his bare toes for purchase. She let him choke for a moment, then reached out and carefully steadied him. The highblood gagged, coughing.

“It is within my power to keep you here for an indefinite period and I fully intend to do so. Only a confession will undo those ropes. Do you understand?”

He coughed in response.

“I said,” and she circled back around until she was facing him once more, “do you understand?”

His eyes flashed the signature neon colors of highblood chucklevoodoo and she felt the faintest edge of uncertainty grasping at her mind. _What if she was wrong, what if she was wasting her time here, chasing shadows when her colleagues were already on the path to bigger fish?_ No. She shook her head, clearing her mind. Her instincts were right – this one would lead her to the big fish directly, if only he would talk. He had more fortitude than she had expected, but it was hardly beyond her capabilities.

She felt him try again – _you will fall, finally, as you deserve_ \- and rammed her cane into his soft belly. He saw it coming and tried to shuffle out of the way, but there was nowhere to go. He fell again.

“No,” she said, firmly, watching him gasp for air. “You will find that those of my blood are difficult to suborn in that way.” Difficult, yes, but not impossible; surely he must know that. Nonetheless, on the off chance he didn't, best not to remind him. The legislacerator let him suffer a little longer, then straightened him up again. As she did, she noticed a bulge in his pants and raised her eyebrows. She wondered what it was he found erotic about the situation, how she could find out, and how she could use it against him.

He grinned, lewdly, noticing her take notice, but something about his smile wasn't right. It looked forced. “Enjoying the motherfuckin' view, my ninjalicious ho-tittied mira-”

She backhanded him, almost casually. There was definitely a forced quality to his obscenity. Good; it meant he was hiding something. “No.” Redglare paused, considering. Their predilection for unpredictability made subjugglators and their pupils difficult to interrogate, but she had done it before. She could do it again. She would do it again. “Understand that your oxygen comes at my discretion. When you use it poorly, your value to this investigation declines. Consider the consequences if your value declines below a certain threshold before you next open your mouth.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, assessing. “That's what's some sicknasty threats you get to be makin' at me. You all up to keepin' your promises, legislace-lady?”

She hooked the head of her cane around his wrists and yanked down sharply in response, relishing the sound of him gasping and choking as she walked out of the room. She gave him a long stretch to contemplate his utter lack of control before signaling the lowblood guards to set him back on his feet.

It was two days before Neophyte Redglare bothered to check on her prisoner again. It was better to give the impression that her time was valuable and her attention rare, even if it almost killed her to sit and do nothing for a day while her colleagues were out chasing other leads. Her patience would pay off, she knew it. She had to.

Gamzee had not suffered the wait well. He looked wild-eyed with hunger, and the cell reeked in that uniquely disgusting way that only a prison cell can. The bruise on his neck was thicker, uglier.

“Hose him down, boys,” she commanded, and the lowbloods grinned. It was good to throw one's subordinates a bone once in awhile. Though their dreadful blood color prevented them from joining the legislacerator's fight for justice at a meaningful level, they always enjoyed the chance to help out where they could. Especially when the prisoner was a highblood. Desperate for water, Gamzee opened his mouth and tried to catch whatever spray he could from the punishing high-pressure stream they blasted him with.

“That's enough,” she said, when she had determined that he was sufficiently cleaned up. Once they were alone, she gave him a contemplative look. “Are you feeling more cooperative, Gamzee?”

“What's all being in it for me if I am?” he asked, shaking his head and spattering water everywhere. Redglare curled her lip and wiped her glasses.

“A myriad of privileges, including your continued ability to breathe,” she said.

“What else?”

“We might even be persuaded to feed you.”

“And?”

“And,” she said, circling behind him. “And,” she hooked her cane on the noose end of the rope and pulled, gently, making it just that little bit more difficult to breathe, “and. Always wanting more. Not the most helpful attitude for a prisoner, I think.” She let him down just as gently, stalking back around to the front. Sure enough, his bulge was already obviously hard. She tilted her head to the side and looked at the highblood. “Unless it's more of...” she trailed off, reached out and grabbed him by the throat in one gloved hand.

His still-dripping face was a wonderful contradiction; halfway between panic and pleasure. Eyes wide and lips parted, gasping, he tried to speak but couldn't find the breath. She let go, looking pointedly at his growing bulge. “You're enjoying this,” she said, bluntly, with a little black shiver of lust. In a way, so was she. She put her cane down next to her.

Gamzee looked away, biting his lip. “Hell no.”

Now it was Redglare's turn to grin lewdly. “Evidence suggests otherwise.” She held her hand up and drew her glove off slowly, then reached out to take hold of his throat again.

He skittered back as far away as he could while staying on his toes. It wasn't very far. He grimaced and she saw his eyes flash neon again, fear screaming in her mind, _why was she here, what was the point, she would lose all credibility, she would lose everything wasting her time interrogating a dead end and all for a little spark of lust_. She hissed and lashed out with her cane, clipping him in the side so he lost balance. She felt the fear drop out of her as he dropped on the noose.

“Excellent effort,” she said, summoning every ounce of arrogance she had, knowing it would never cover the lapse, “but no.” Her pump sponge pounded in her chest and she swallowed, feeling disgusted. The fear had been strangely thrilling. She stalked forward and grabbed him by the throat with her bare hand, reaching down to run a gloved finger along the side of his bulge. He made a noise. She suspected it would have been a whimper if he could breathe. She kept stroking, pushing his endurance. Finally, when he was purple-faced and half-conscious, she released his throat. In one swift motion, she grabbed her cane and swung upwards, cutting the rope and letting him drop roughly to the floor.

He looked up at her, coughing, and tried again, eyes all neon colors and fear eating into her. “Evidence motherfuckin' suggests you're motherfuckin' enjoyin' this, Redglare.” Very funny, throwing her own words back in her face.

She made a fist, digging her sharp nails into her palm to diffuse the fear with pain. She had to reclaim control. How amateur, to allow one's prisoner even the slightest sliver of advantage; worse still that it was caliginous. But he played a good game and she couldn't pretend she didn't like it just a little. “I still own you, highblood,” she replied, stalking over to stand astride him. She kicked him onto his stomach and grabbed the end of the rope that was around his neck, giving it a sharp tug. He moaned, wriggling. The legislacerator crouched to whisper in his ear. “Do you want me to stop?” she gave him a little slack on the rope, just enough that he could answer.

“Yes,” he said breathlessly, then, without pausing, “no. No.”

“Do you want more?”

He panted out a yes.

“Will you talk if I give you more?” She reached a gloved hand into his pants to play with him. He stiffened, breath coming in shudder-short gasps of desire.

“Nnnnhhhh. No.”

“No?” She raised an eyebrow. “Will you talk if I stop?”

“Nnnnnnnnhhh... no!”  


She took her hand away and let the rope go slack.  
  
“They want,” he panted, turning to look at her. He tried to use the chucklevoodoo again; she could see the barest flash of color in his eyes, but he didn't seem to be able to summon the will to produce anything other than a trickle of unease. Still, she savored it. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

“What do they want?” she said, flipping him over onto his back. She used the blade of her cane to slice his undergarments off neatly, then dropped it and took him in her hand again.

“They,” he hissed, from between his teeth, “aah, please.”

“Please what?” she said, not stopping. “Please stop? Or please more?” She grinned, flashing fang.

“Please motherfuckin' more,” he begged, looking away from her.

“You like when I choke you.” It wasn't a question.

He nodded.

“You want to come?” she asked, giving his bulge a squeeze.

He nodded again, biting his lip so hard she saw pinpricks of purple blood.

“Tell me what they want.” She poised a hand over his throat.

He talked in gasps in the gaps where she permitted him to breathe, always stroking and teasing, keeping him just at the edge of orgasm and never allowing him to cross. It took some time, but eventually she was satisfied that she had obtained the full story.

She pushed her undergarments aside and slid down onto him in one smooth motion, reaching once again for his bruised and battered throat. “You can come,” she whispered, “when I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted from a tumblr anon who requested "blackrom gamzee and redglare and/or ghb and terezi please o' great one". Since I had already done Terezi/GHB twice, I thought I would change it up a little. It does border on dubcon despite my personal distaste for dubcon as a fetish, but I wound up comfortable with it. I have no practical experience with predicament bondage, but the ropework should work as described, I think. Obviously I don't recommend trying that in real life, you'll choke to death.


End file.
